by Dan Goldin (@post_trash_)
The heart of Rick Rude’s music has always been about friendship. Make Mine Tuesday, the band’s full length debut was a reference to the band’s weekly practice day and the idea that no matter what was happening in the world, the New Hampshire based quartet would always have time carved out among friends. Those friendships extend beyond the band members themselves into their expanded community as well as self-care, being a friend to oneself. There’s a spark fueled by those we cherish, in good times and bad, love and loss go hand-in-hand, and Rick Rude never take those relationships for granted. It’s been more than five years since they released Verb For Dreaming, and there have been more than enough high highs and low lows to go around. That said, Laverne, the band’s new album, feels like a celebration. It’s a record that revels in the glow of family and friends, remembering the best of times, the moments of pure joy, but it’s also mindful that we all need support to maintain stable footing. It’s not all sunshine, but there is comfort to be found, and it’s in that understanding where Laverne really comes alive.
There’s an inherent bond that comes with being a band for over a decade, when everything seemingly just snaps into place. Rick Rude have always exuded a unique chemistry, the dynamic approach to Ben Troy and Jordan Holtz's duel songwriting often felt like radiant sides of the same coin. There’s cohesion in spades yet their voices, literally and metaphorically, offering personal perspectives, direct yet abstract, with Laverne highlighting both hard-worn warmth and a sardonic wit that combine to satiate, to create a mental ease. There’s sunshine waiting to break through the darkest of clouds if you’re patient enough. Together with Ryan Harrison and Chris Kennedy (who joined the band shortly after their last album), Rick Rude have constructed an album that ebbs and flows in a way that feels like time passing, healing, with riotous spikes and reflective respite. Make no mistake though, it’s a ripper, they’d have it no other way. Rick Rude have always been a force for good ol’ heartfelt explosiveness in a way that nods to Crazy Horse, Built to Spill, and the Pixies, but it’s the way they shape those familiar pieces that sounds instantly identifiable as their own. They choogle, they get sludgy, there’s twang and there’s plenty of reckless charm, and it’s all essential to the recipe.
From moments of math rock dexterity and irreverence (“Area Woman Yells At Junk Mail”) to the muscular build from silky swoon to primal dirge (“Real TV”), Rick Rude sound fine tuned, the weight of their attack given a colossal heft only balanced with the strength of the melodies. There’s a swarm to the guitars, a blaze of fuzz and glory, and while we’d be content to let them swallow the proceedings whole, the band are masters of nuance, peeling back at times, stuttering into condensed shifts at others. Harrison’s approach to rhythm is spring loaded with fills that dazzle without stealing the focus, the pummel in a fluid sweeping motion on songs like the impeccable “Winded Whale” and the combustible “Square”. Rick Rude keep us on our toes, and the emotional effect is all the better as a result, these are rough waters and nothing stays smooth forever. There’s so much momentum to the band’s twin guitars, pulling on classic shredders like “Wooden Knife” while opting for tightly coiled knots just a track later on the fantastic “P2PU”. Laverne presents a great deal to explore in the way each song unfolds, Rick Rude digging in and detonating otherwise simple premises, primed with uptempo boogie and vocal melodies that stick like glue. It’s the sound of a crackling campfire, the distillation of a boozy jaunt down river, a timeless embrace of those we choose to surround ourselves with.